


It's Fate

by red_special_specialist



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, GW2020, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmates, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_special_specialist/pseuds/red_special_specialist
Summary: Mickey had always known he’d meet his soulmate on a baseball field.My seventh entry for Gallavich Week 2020!
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 24
Kudos: 213
Collections: Gallavich Week 2020





	It's Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is my final story for gw2020. I just wanna say I appreciate all the kudos and kind comments, not only on this story, but on all of them. Thanks for reading!

Mickey had always known he’d meet his soulmate on a baseball field.

He looked at the mark many times. The tattooed letters across his hip. As a young child, he’d look at it in the mirror all the time. Staring at it, until the words blended together. Even when he couldn’t read, he stared, rubbing at his hip, at the words. The words that would be spoken by his soulmate. The first words they would ever say to him.

_“Is this your first time playing on a baseball field?”_

It was rare, but sometimes the words, which appeared somewhere on your skin once you were born, would give clues about your soulmate. Sometimes it would say the other’s name like, ‘Hi. I’m so and so,’ or sometimes it would say a time like, ‘Yeah, it’s 12:43.’ And Mickey was fortunate enough to have his own clue about his soulmate.

When Mickey was old enough to understand how soulmates worked, and what his words meant, there wasn’t a time he wouldn’t talk about baseball. He would hound his mother about signing him up, but his mother always had the same answer.

“You’re too young, Mikhailo,” she would say to him in her heavy Ukrainian accent, “Besides, we cannot afford it.”

Mickey would always stomp away in anger. It wasn’t fair. If he knew where his soulmate would be, why shouldn’t he speed up the process? It wasn’t like it would change anything. No matter what he did, he’d end up with them eventually. Unless, of course, he doesn’t play baseball in the first place! Mickey didn’t know why his mother couldn’t understand that.

One day, right before summer break, eight-year-old Mickey walked into the kitchen, where his mother was standing at the stove, boiling cabbage to make Holubtsi. He stood behind her, with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

“Yes, Mikhailo?” she said, not turning around from what she was doing.

“I want you to sign me up for little league this year.”

His mother chuckled, but continued cooking, “What have I told you?”

“I know what you told me. I want to play.”

“You are not old enough to _play_.”

“ _Yes_ , I am,” he said, his jaw set. His mother would sign him up, and he wouldn’t leave the kitchen until she agreed.

“We do not have the money.”

Mickey pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and slammed it on the counter next to her.

Mickey’s mother glanced at the money, and then finally looked back at her son, “You think you will get lucky this time, yes? No. You are a persistent child, Mikhailo, but my answer still stands.”

“Then I’ll go without you,” he threatened, “I’ll sign your name and pay for it myself.”

Mickey’s mother stared at him for a moment, before turning off the burner to the stove. She then sat down at the table, urging her son to sit in front of her.

Mickey sat down and stared deep into his mother’s passionate and caring eyes.

Mickey’s mother grabbed her son’s hands, holding them gently, “My Mikhailo, so determined. So ready to grow up.”

“Ma-”

“You are a rowdy child, Mikhailo. You are very rough, but your heart,” she said with a small smile, “Your heart beats to the drum of a romantic, to true love. And you want to follow this beat, yes?”

Mickey nodded his head.

“There is nothing wrong with that. However, you’re trying too hard. You are trying to trick fate, instead of letting your soulmate be found organically. Even if you find them, if you find them at the wrong time, you both might lose each other forever.”

Mickey furrowed his brow, “I don’t understand.”

“ _Because_ you are too young.”

“Ma, please. I just wanna play baseball.”

His mother sighed, and then said, “I am going to tell you something, Mikhailo. You must promise to keep it a secret. Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

“Your father and I are not soulmates.”

Mickey’s eyes widened at that, “But, pops said-”

“I know, but it isn’t the truth. Like you, I was desperate to find my soulmate as soon as possible. What I had written on me was common phrase, but it was in a language I didn’t speak. It was written in English. I worked tirelessly to move to America, knowing my best chances of finding my true love would be here. When I moved to Chicago, after about three months, everyone knew what I was after. They called me crazy, but I wasn’t crazy, I just wanted to be loved. This was when I met your father. We had both said each other’s words. Well, I knew he said mine, but I never saw his until after we were married.”

“Why?”

His mother’s eyes went cold, when she said, “Because he doesn’t have any.”

Mickey turned white. He felt sick. His father didn’t have any words? He didn’t have a soulmate? It was rare to not have any kind of mark, usually only happening to people whose soulmate died at birth or died sometime before meeting them. When your soulmate died, the words on your body would disappear, leaving you without a mark. Sometimes, however, and this was exceedingly rare, people are born without marks, because they never had or will have a soulmate. Some people didn’t _deserve_ them, and it wasn’t impossible for Mickey to imagine that his father was one of them, “So, he lied?”

“Yes, he lied. By the time I found out, I had already had Colin and was pregnant with Iggy. One night, while your father was out, my mark had disappeared. I was so afraid something had happened, but soon after that your father came home. I found out then. He confessed the truth after that, but it was too late. Your father may not be my soulmate, but whoever was had died. So, I stayed. Not only because of that, but for you, my children. And if I didn’t stay, I would never have had you or your sister, so I am thankful for that at least.”

Mickey didn’t know what to say. He truly didn’t.

“Do you know why I have told you this, Mickey?”

Mickey shook his head.

“Because, you can not rush fate. If you go out seeking it, you’ll always be disappointed.”

Mickey stared down at the ground, and then turned to look at the money sitting on the counter.

“If you still want to play in little league this summer, I will sign your form. But remember what I said, Mikhailo. You may not find what you want to find.”

Mickey gulped, and then looked back at his mother, before nodding his head, “I still wanna go.”

“Ok,” she said, “Hand me the form.”

After having his mother sign and pay for him, Mickey practiced like crazy until his first practice came around. He was nervous, but excited. He was finally going to meet his soulmate. Maybe not on the first day, but he had all summer.

The night before practice, Mickey didn’t sleep. He was too anxious, as he remembered his mother’s words. He didn’t want to let what she said get to him, because this was different, but it did, nonetheless.

When Mickey made his way to the field the next morning, he was thirty minutes early. He met up with his coach, and as more people started to fill the stands, Mickey would look over at them to see if his soulmate were here.

Mickey suspected the girl would be here to watch a brother or cousin, maybe it was one of the coach’s daughters. Mickey knew he had a couple around his age. Though to his disappointment, a lot of them were either a lot older or a lot younger than he was. The closest one to his age was one of the Gallagher kids. Fiona, Mickey thought her name was. But she was a middle schooler, and she didn’t look interesting. Though, no girl had ever looked interesting to Mickey. Yet, he just assumed it was because they weren’t his soulmate.

When the practice was about to start, Mickey sat down on the bench with his teammates. He was still staring at the stands, when the kid sitting next to him tapped his shoulder. Mickey turned to see Ian Gallagher, staring up at him inquisitively. Mickey raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, _‘Can I help you?’_

“Is this your first time playing on a baseball field?”

Mickey’s heart stopped, and he could feel a slight burn on his hip. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way Ian Gallagher was his soulmate. There was no way his soulmate was a _boy_. Then again, when Ian looked at him, Mickey felt like he was burning from the inside out. Like his skin was buzzing, and his heart was fluttering. He had to stop himself from rubbing at the words on his hip. The words Ian said.

Ian was still looking up at him, his eyes wide, and his lips pulled up into a smile.

Mickey didn’t know what to do. His soulmate couldn’t be a boy. Even if Ian technically were, Mickey’s father would kill them both if he ever found out.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

Instead of answering Ian’s question, Mickey balled up his fist and punched the red head in the nose, hard.

“Hey!” Ian’s sister, Fiona, shouted from the stands.

Mickey looked down at the boy, who was now holding his nose, kneeling on the ground. Mickey got up and kicked him in the stomach, and then the mouth, and then the head. As much as it hurt, Mickey needed to make sure Ian Gallagher would never try to talk to him again.

The coach quickly pulled Mickey off Ian, and just like that, Mickey was off the team. Mickey didn’t care, in fact, he was glad. He didn’t ever want to play baseball again.

When Mickey had gotten home, his mother was sitting on the couch, braiding his sister Mandy’s hair.

She didn’t look up and said, “You’re home early? Did they cancel practice?”

“I don’t want to fuckin’ talk about it,” Mickey snapped, his voice breaking a bit. He ran to his room and slammed the door, going under his pillows to cry. He felt awful. Not only about the fact that Ian was his soulmate, but that he caused his soulmate pain. It was like he could feel Ian’s sadness crawling over his skin. Mickey stayed in bed for the rest of the night.

The next day, his father asked him why he decided to be a fucking idiot and get kicked off the team.

“I beat up some faggot,” Mickey muttered, as he tried to eat his cereal and watch tv.

Terry Milkovich laughed, and then ruffled his son’s hair, before going into the kitchen.

Mickey didn’t have to look to know his mother was watching him. He hoped she wouldn’t try to talk to him about it. Luckily, she never did.

As the years went on, Mickey became less and less convinced he was straight. By the time he was fourteen, he was stealing men’s heath magazines and jerking it under the covers, while everyone else was asleep. He’d become more disinterest in girls as time went on, and he knew his mother noticed.

Mickey, of course, didn’t care if she knew. It was Mickey’s father he had to worry about. Though, Mickey wasn’t anywhere close to being stereotypically gay, so unless he decided to shout out ‘I love cock!’ than he was sure he could keep the wool pulled over Terry’s eyes.

At school, Mickey would continue to avoid Ian. It wasn’t hard, because the other boy didn’t like him, which was good. But Mickey wasn’t afraid of what Ian would say to him, but what he would say to Ian. Ian had spoken his words to Mickey already, but Mickey has yet to say his to Ian. So, he avoided the boy, even though that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Just because he couldn’t talk to Ian, didn’t mean he couldn’t watch. He watched Ian constantly. And every time he’d get a little too close, Mickey could feel the burning sensation in his hip again, the shortness of breath, and the wild beating in his heart.

At seventeen, Mickey’s father was sentenced to life in prison. The old fuck finally went overboard and killed someone in a bar fight. He was found the same night of the murder, hiding out in the Milkovich house. The cops hauled him off and took him away, and Mickey would never see him again.

Neither Mickey, his mother, or his siblings seemed upset about it. In fact, it was easier to breathe. Mickey noticed his siblings were happier, and his mother too. Her bruises were finally starting to heal, and she seemed energetic enough to go out and socialize, like she did when Mickey was a kid. Mickey also felt a gigantic weight lift off his shoulders, because now Terry wasn’t around to hurt Mickey if he ever found out about Mickey being gay. He could finally be himself.

It started small at first, like Mickey wouldn’t lie about sleeping with women anymore. Then it escalated to leaving playgirl magazines in his nightstand, along with a bottle of lube and a dildo. He didn’t really feel the need to hide it anymore, but he wasn’t open about it. If anyone knew it was probably his family. He never went out and tried to find guys to hook up with. It was hopeless anyway, because no matter how great the guy was, or how huge his dick was. It wasn’t Ian.

Life carried on like that until a year later. One night, in June, Mickey found himself waking up with a sharp pain. He bit his lip as he frantically reached for his lamp on his nightstand. Then, as Mickey woke up more, he was able to identify the pain. He pulled his underwear down enough to look at his hip, and to his disbelief, the words were faded.

Mickey quickly jumped out of bed and looked at it in the mirror, to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. The words were faded. Something was wrong. Mickey knew something was very wrong.

Without even thinking about it, Mickey grabbed his cellphone off his bed. He checked the time to see that it was 12:30 am. It was late, but Mickey didn’t really care. He urgently typed in the Gallagher’s house phone number. He knew it, because Lip Gallagher had done some school papers for him in the past, and sometimes they would talk over phone. Mickey waited for what felt like eternity, until someone finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, uh, sorry if this is kinda late, but-”

“Who is this?” The feminine voice said from the other line.

“Look, I need to talk to Ian. I’m a friend from school, and I just really need to talk to him right now.”

“Do you know how late it is? He’s asleep.”

“Please,” Mickey said, and he wondered if he should just say fuck it and run over to Ian’s house, “It’s really important.”

The woman on the other line gave out an irritated sigh, “Fine, hold on.”

Mickey never got to talk to Ian.

After waiting for twenty minutes, Mickey decided no one was coming to the phone, and he ran to the Gallaghers’. He pounded on the door, before trying to look through the window. The lights were out, and it seemed no one was home. At that moment, Mickey felt another sharp pain, and then he looked to his hip to see the words fading. Mickey kept pounding on the door, ready to break it down. He then looked to his hip again and saw the words fade into nothing. His words were gone. Ian’s words were gone. Which meant Ian was dead.

Mickey felt as if his heart was ripped out of his chest. He felt hollow.

Mickey didn’t know how he made it home, or when he fell asleep, but when morning came, all Mickey wanted to do was sleep forever. His soulmate was gone. How could he let this happen?

Eventually, Mickey had to get up to use the restroom. When he begrudgingly passed the mirror, something caught his eye. He saw some inked skin poking out at his hip, where his shirt had ridden up. Mickey all but ripped off his shirt, and almost cried, when he saw Ian’s words back on his hip. He couldn’t believe it; they didn’t look faded at all. Ian was alive.

A couple weeks passed, and Mickey found himself on the Gallaghers’ front porch.

He had found out the morning he’d gotten his mark back, that Ian had attempted suicide. And that he was found by his sister, Fiona, who almost didn’t make it in time. They said someone heard Ian actually died when he arrived at the hospital, but they were able to revive him. Also, Ian had been committed to a psychiatric ward for testing.

It had all made Mickey feel awful. He never knew this was something Ian was going through. He blamed himself, really, for what had happened.

Mickey knocked on the Gallaghers’ front door, a lot calmer than he did a couple weeks ago.

When Fiona answered the door, she looked Mickey up and down with annoyance, “If Frank owes you money, he’s not here.”

“I’m here to see Ian.”

Fiona blinked at him, “What?”

“Look, I don’t have time to explain. Just let me in,” Mickey said, trying to move past Fiona.

Fiona blocked him, “Get out of here, Milkovich. I don’t know what you want with my brother, but he just got out of a psychiatric hospital, so please leave us alone,” her voice cracked, going to shut the door.

“I was the one who called you that night,” Mickey blurted out.

Fiona stopped, and opened the door back up, “What?”

“I’m the one that called you that night to talk to Ian.”

Fiona furrowed her brow, “Why?”

“Because I knew he was in trouble.”

Fiona’s eyes went wide, “How?”

Mickey sighed. He guessed that if he were going to confront Ian, his family might as well know too. He lifted his shirt up a little, and then pulled his shorts down to show his hip, “Because these were fading.”

Fiona put her hand to her mouth, staring at the words. She then looked back up at Mickey, her eyes changing from anger to sympathy.

“Please, Fiona. I need to make sure he’s ok.”

Fiona nodded and let Mickey in.

When Mickey stepped into the Gallagher house, he saw the other kids, along with Lip, watching tv.

Lip looked back at him and furrowed his brow, “What are you doing here?”

Mickey didn’t answer, but instead asked Fiona, “Where’s his room?”

“Hey,” Lip interjected, getting up from the couch.

Fiona held her arm out, “It’s ok, Lip. I’ll explain later,” she turned to Mickey, “Upstairs, down the hall on the left.”

Mickey nodded and made his way up the stairs. When he got to Ian’s bedroom, he braced himself, before slowly opening the door. He saw Ian laying down under the covers, his back facing the door.

“Go away, Fiona,” he mumbled, sounding sedated.

Mickey stood there a moment and watched him. Ian was usually so vibrant. Even the days leading up to his attempted suicide, Mickey would see him joking around and having a good time.

“I said go the fuck away, Fiona,” he growled, turning around to face Mickey.

When Ian’s eyes met Mickey’s he immediately sat up. He was shaking and his eyes were wild, “Who let you in here?”

Mickey didn’t say anything, but he shut the door behind him.

“Look, if Frank owes you anything, then go by the Alibi. He isn’t here,” Ian said, backed up against the wall.

Mickey held his hands up to show he wasn’t going to hurt Ian. He sat down on the bed next to him.

“What are you doing here?”

Mickey stared at Ian and thought of what to say. He knew whatever it was, it was already written on the other boy’s skin. Mickey wracked his brain for a response, before deciding on, “Sorry I’m late.”

Ian’s terrified eyes, then turned to eyes of confusion, and then of realization, and then of shock, “What did you just say?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he repeated, and watched as Ian looked down at his chest. That must have been where his mark was. He reached out then, gently touching Ian’s chest, causing the other boy to flinch, “Do you feel it? The burning? Your heart beatin’ fast? Is it hard to breathe?”

Ian nodded, “How did you know?”

“Because that’s what I felt when you said your words to me.”

Ian looked at Mickey then, really looked at him. He took one of his bandaged hands, and then gently stroked Mickey’s cheek, “Can I see it?”

Mickey nodded, and then showed Ian the words on his hip.

Ian read the words and frowned a little, “That’s not what I said.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Yes, it is.”

“I know I’m on heavy drugs, but I’m pretty sure I can remember what I said to you three minutes ago.”

“That wasn’t the first time you talked to me.”

Ian furrowed his brow, “When did I-”

“Remember when we were in little league?”

Ian thought about it a moment, and then scoffed, “Yeah, and you beat me up for no reason.”

Mickey shook his head, “Do you remember what you said to me?”

Ian’s eyes widened. He looked back down at the words again, “Holy shit,” he whispered. He ran his thumb across Mickey’s hip, causing him to shiver.

Mickey felt the burning in his hip again. It felt amazing. He felt whole.

“You’ve known this long?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know who my dad is, right? I couldn’t let him find out.”

Ian nodded like he understood. He then looked up at Mickey, and then after a beat, kissed him.

Mickey moaned, letting Ian fall back on the bed, and he gently got on top of him. They kissed a little while longer, before Ian broke away.

“Y’know, if you’re hoping for sex, you’ll have to wait another day. All the meds they put me on, makes my dick limp. I can’t get it up.”

“It’s fine, Ian. It doesn’t matter. What do _you_ want?”

“I want you to hold me.”

Mickey nodded, and then carefully maneuvered himself behind Ian. He held him from behind, as he let his eyes slip shut. And as Mickey felt himself starting to drift off, holding his soulmate, who he thought had left him forever. He understood that it had to happen this way. It was fate.


End file.
